Clash of Interests
by TKlingeW
Summary: Everyone is interested in different things. France just want something else than English food, Harry is worrying about the rise of Voldemort and Umbridge wants to know who the mysterious Frenchman is. With England on the sideline, prohibited from interfering, France agrees to go to Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Hetalia. They belong to their respectful owners.**

England was in a conflict with himself and had been so for the last few days. Last week, when he was about to prepare for the next World Meeting, he had suddenly felt a jap in his heart. Out of nowhere, it felt like someone was splitting his heart into two pieces. It lasted only for a minute or so before he was back again. But it concerned him.

Last time he had felt a pain like that was almost two decades ago, just before there was a war in his magical community.

However, he had no time to think about it, because his phone rang shortly after. The in incident was pushed back in his mind, but not forgotten. Just postponed to when he had time to think about it.

That later time came rather abruptly, though. In the middle of a Meeting, he suddenly felt the pain of one of his people dying. Granted, he did that all the time, but this was different anyhow. This man was killed with magic, the killing curse. The reason behind his surprise was that he hadn't felt someone die in that manner for quite some time. Not since…

"England agrees with me!"

"I am certain he do not."

England was pulled out of his thoughts by the mention of his name. It was the normal ruckus. Some Nations were talking with each other, others listened to what was being said and some (like Greece) were sleeping. Of course, it was America who was doing the talking.

From what England could see, it looked like he'd just presented a plan to how you could use zeppelins to clean out the CO2 in the atmosphere, or something like that.

Germany was in the group of nations actually listening, and the one to speak against America's proposition.

"I do apologise, I must have drifted off," he started, while he gathered his thoughts. He had a hard time concentration on the meeting: the after-effect of the killing curse still echoed in his inner.

"But nevertheless, I agree with Germany. Zeppelins are not the most safe option for mass production. Have you forgotten about the Hindenburg incident in 1937?"

"What, dude, that was almost a decade ago! We can do much better now, and since I am the hero it won't burn down this time!"

"But wasn't it on American soil it burned, aru?"

"Minor detail…"

The rest of the meeting went on like that. England kept his activity to the minimum, not in the mood for the inevitable conflict it would cause.

Right now, Cuba and Romano was having a heated argument about something that was completely irrelevant for a meeting. England most of all wanted the meeting to end so that he could go and check if his hunch was right. If he was back again.

"Angleterre, you are awfully quiet today, no? Is something wrong?"

England recognised that voice anywhere. It was the damn Frog. Always here to disturb the peace. However, before England could come with a retort, Germany announced that they as well could end the meeting since no one was doing anything anymore.

Pleased with the announcement (and the fact that France had hopped on to the passing… who was that again, Canadia? No, Canada), England began to collect his papers. His mind was already elsewhere.

…

The streets of London were busy, as usual. It was in the middle of summer, so tourism was at its highest. Luckily for England, he knew London like his back pocket. Easily maneuvering his way around, he found himself outside a sketchy-looking place. Tucked between other shops was a small, easily overlooked façade.

'The Leaky Cauldron' the sign over the entrance announced. England stopped outside the door for a moment. It had been years since he last visited this place, or the magical world all in all. His last boss hadn't approved of the more magical side of the world, and after the dire consequences of the last Wizarding War, straight down forbidden England any contact with it.

That wouldn't have been enough to keep England away from his people, but also the magical community, or rather the Ministry of Magic, would like if he kept out of their business. So England hadn't much of a choice. He pulled himself from the magical community and solemnly focused on his more mundane tasks.

But now he was here again. It wasn't like he would interfere, he just needed to know if he was back again and what better place to find out than in the Leaky Cauldron.

Inside there were quite a lot of people. It was not only Muggles, as the wizards say, that come to London to see the sights. But England made it to the bar where he ordered a cup of Earl Grey tea and began to look in the Daily Prophet. He quickly gathered that because of his withdrawal in the middle of the war, he hardly knew anything about the ending of it and the time after. This fact annoyed him quite a bit.

…

Around an hour later, England was again sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, but this time at a table and accompanied by a stack of books. It annoyed him that there was a part of his history he didn't know, so he had visited the bookstore in order to buy some book on the matter.

He quickly figured out that an infant named Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, and that he was supposed to be dead. That just didn't explain the feeling he'd had.

England was a quick reader, so he finished the history for the past two decades in around two hours. After that, it was time to get started on his actual goal for the trip. Figure out if Voldemort was back again. He certainly hoped not. It was so bloody difficult last time.

He quickly figured out that the Daily Prophet was not anything to trust. They didn't mention a thing other than if this boy Harry Potter, the kid to defeat Voldemort, was lying. It didn't mention what he was supposed to lie about, just that you couldn't trust him.

England's books weren't new enough to cover the happenings last year, so he decided to visit the library.

Not many people actually knew that there were a library on Diagon Alley. It wasn't on the main street, and it was small, tucked away between two hotels. But it was there and they had newspapers and magazines all the way back to before England left.

Mostly old wizards visited the place. It was a small, dusty room with shelves along the sides and places to sit at in the middle.

The librarian looked up as he entered, but didn't do anything else. He just continued reading in a magazine that looked like it was taken out of the Victorian times.

England found the newest shelf and looked over the headlines. Apparently that Quidditch World Cup had been hold last year and ended with an Irish victory (so that was why Ireland was so bloody pleased with himself that summer), but also with the Dark Mark appearing in the sky. The Dark Mark wasn't anything England was tuned into feeling, and because he was in China at that time to attend a meeting, the whole affair had gone over his head.

They had apparently also brought back the Tri-Wizard tournament. England had been there to found the games, but over the years they had evolved into something violent. Or maybe he himself had changed. Once upon a time he was a tad more, ahm, violent than now. He had stopped it in 1792 because of the high death tolls. That was the time were he still had something to say in the magical world.

And he was right. There had been another death, this time of one Cedric Diggory, a seventh-year student at Hogwarts. If you believe the paper, which England didn't, the lad died on the same day where he first felt the pain. He may not be tuned for the Dark Mark, but he will always be able to feel the killing curse. He was very much against its invention back in the days.

After the death of Mr. Diggory, the different newspapers and magazines took different approaches to the case. The biggest and most prominent, the Daily Prophet, didn't believe the words of young Harry Potter who said that he saw Voldemort rise and the others… Wait a moment.

England went back to the article to read it more carefully. So from Mr. Potter's statement, the Dark Lord had risen on a graveyard with the help of someone named "Wormtail". He had killed Cedric Diggory with the killing curse, which England had felt, and then he and Mr. Potter had had a fight were after Mr. Potter had escaped with the boy of Mr. Diggory.

That was the essence of the article, but England highly despised of the journalist. Rita Skeeter. He didn't know her, nor did he ever want to, but the entire article was written so unbelievable, that no one would believe a word of it. Unless they happened to be the personification of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

…

After some more research, he figured out that there now was a war between the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, believed the words of Harry Potter, while the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, did everything in his might to disprove him and refused to acknowledge that Voldemort was back. A smaller magazine that solemnly focused on the Ministry of Magic reported that a woman named Dolores Umbridge was taking the position as teacher in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

England had ever thought it a good idea to mix politics and school more than necessary, so, from what he had read, it sounded like a bad idea.

…

All the research put England in a dilemma. He was absolutely sure that Voldemort was back again, but the problem was that the Ministry, the head of the Magical community, didn't believe so. They were even sending a woman to Hogwarts to make sure that no one there believed so either, just because the Minister didn't like the headmaster all that much. Then there was the problem of Harry Potter. Before England left the magical community, he was told about the prophecy. There was no doubt that Harry Potter was the child of that, and there was no doubt that Voldemort knew that too. He wasn't in much danger in Hogwarts, the probability of Voldemort to turn up there with Professor Dumbledore still there was very small. But England had always been fond of Hogwarts. He had known the founders and seen the school blossom to what it was today.

It would be easier to infiltrate Hogwarts than the ministry and England believed that it would be the wiser move. All the happenings had been at or around Hogwarts, which was where they still believed at Voldemort was back.

But he had a problem. It all sounded good, but there was nothing he could do. No matter how much he wanted, he was prohibited from interfering with the Wizarding world. It had been the only thing the 'Muggle' world and the magical world had been able to agree on, so there wasn't much England could do himself. But he wasn't the only one out there. It wasn't Nations that were prohibited, just the personification of England. He could send another.

But who? America was out of the question; he didn't believe in magic, despite his own magical community. England's own brothers was also out, they were under the same rule as himself. Ireland was a possibility. It was also part his school. But Patrick was never the type to cooperate and he couldn't just leave his duties as a nation. While England could leave it to Scotland or Wales, Ireland and Northern Ireland didn't really talk. Ireland was his own country so he couldn't just skip the meetings.

England kept on going like that for some time, and an uneasy feeling started to form in his stomach. There was, so far he could see, only one person that could, would and had the abilities to do it. France. Of all countries on the entire planet, the only one England could use was France. That bloody frog.

On the way home, a thought about that he'd forgot someone. America's brother. Who was it again? Canada, yes - that was it. He had forgotten Canada. But Canada was in the same situation as Ireland. He couldn't just leave his duties as a Nation, and while there were magical schools in Canada, Canada himself lacked the skills to become a teacher in such school.

However much England hated to admit it, France possessed those skills. Through the years he had been involved in his own magical school: Beauxbatons Academy.

England didn't really see any other choice than to invite his southern neighbour to tea.

* * *

AN.

Hello and welcome to my story! I don't know how long I plan on making it, but we'll see.

I want to say thank you to my beta-reader SilverStreaksofStardust, without her, this would probably never have been published.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Hetalia. They belong to their respectful owners.**

France had been surprised, to say the least, but agreed to come over to tea the following day. While England mentally prepared himself of what to come, he looked through his old magic thing. He discovered that he had quite a lot of things that he'd forgotten about. In between capes and a variety of different wands he found, among other things, a map over Hogwarts from when it was being built. He hadn't even known that he was given one. Well, life is full of surprises. He also found a first edition of 'Hogwarts: A History', the first paper of the Daily Prophet and a drawing off him and the founders of Hogwarts. Ah yes, good times.

He was pulled out of his trip down memory lane by a energetic knock on the door. The frog had arrived. However, now was not the time for petty insults.

"France," England greeted, setting the tone for the day. "I am pleased that you could come."

France got the clue. When "France" was used, it was serious. Else, it would be, _ahem_ , something not quite as nice.

"Angleterre, I must say I was surprised by your call. What is so urgent that we couldn't talk about it at zee next meeting?"

They walked into the living room where England had prepared some tea.

"It's not so much urgent. It more that I don't want every other nation knowing about it."

France had picked up the teacup and was spinning the liquid around.

"Do you remember the wizard from a couple years back? The one who started the war here?"

"Oui," France answered, his face getting a puzzled expression. "However I 'ave no idea to why you are asking zhat. Did he not die?"

"That's the point," England sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I have reasons to believe that he is back again."

France leaned back into the chair with a small curse. England knew that Voldemort and his followers, in the last part of the war, also had made their way to the other side of the canal. He hadn't been in France long enough to really make an impression, but he was big enough for France to take notice.

England was pleased with the way things had turned out. Today was one of the rare days where France was bearable and they could talk about things without ending up shouting. That may mostly be due to the fact that they were discussing an important subject, and that France could see that it was something that troubled England. They may be old rivals, but that also meant that they had known each other for a long time. Most of the time they weren't on that good a foot, but England knew, that if things turned bad he could count on France, and vice versa.

At the end of England's explanation on the matter, they sat in silence.

"And you cannot do anything about it, no?" France asked.

"No, that the point. My boss and the Ministry of Magic have agreed that we, myself, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, must keep our noses out of the magical community. My hands are tied and there is a war boiling under the surface."

France could see the problem. He didn't have the same back home; he could interact all he wanted and he knew, that if there was an evil wizard endangering not only the magical world, but also the non-magical one, he would interfere. England sat with that problem. A maniac with magic threatened his land, and he could do nothing about it.

"So, what iz your plan then?"

England got up from the chair and stood next to one of the windows, clearly uncomfortable.

"I need someone on the inside. Someone to make sure that that bloody Ministry is not making it all worse. Someone to keep an eye out for what's going on."

France had a feeling about where this was going, and a strange warm feeling began to spread inside him.

"I was wondering, hoping really, that you would find it too troublesome if I asked you to do me a favour," England said, all this while looking out of the window. France knew why. In all the time he had known England, you would be able to count the times he had asked for help on one hand. England was very bad at asking for help, even to his own brothers.

"What iz it?" France asked, just to be sure.

"I would like for you to go to Hogwarts, my Wizarding school. Mr. Potter is attending the school at the moment, and from what I could figure out, most of Voldemort's activities are centered on the school."

It was what something like that France had had in mind. Either the ministry or the school. He could see why it wasn't the ministry. To get into a spot where you was told things would take too long. The school was better for short-time stays.

"Je vois ( _I see_ ). And what would I be doing there?"

"Teaching," England said, returning to his chair. "It's still the same old ghost that is teaching History of Magic as it was 50 years ago, so I think that it may be time for a change. If you accept, I will write a letter to the headmaster and explain the case."

"Bon ( _well_ ), I can't see why not. I am in need of a break anyhow. Oh, and it would be merveileux ( _marvellous_ ). It is such a long time since I last did something not nation related. When do we start?"

France could see that England was taken aback. Probably not what he had expected.

"What about France?" England asked, seemingly forgotten that it was his proposal France had agreed to.

"Do not think about zat! I 'ave Monaco, she can take over for some time. She 'as grown quite a lot."

They then used the next hour or so going over some of the more delicate details. England wrote a (long) letter to the headmaster, explaining their situation. Or, some of it anyhow.

He wrote that he was an old student (which wasn't a lie), and that he had a friend who just moved to England from France. He was in the lookout for a job, and that he had excellent knowledge to the magical history.

They also discussed France background. There was bound to be some wondering about whom he was and he couldn't go around saying that he was France. The ministry didn't allow England to be in their community, but even though the rule didn't include other nations, it would be better not to rub it in their faces.

They agreed to meet again when England got an answer from the headmaster and until then France had some work to do – (namely refreshing his magical history). As a Nation, History came easily to France, but it wasn't everything you could remember all the time. Something had to be forgotten, and British magical History was very much in that category.

…

It didn't take long before the owl arrived back with a note from the headmaster. England was minding his own business, working on something his boss had given him, when a big owl almost clashed with his window. After first, he was surprised. However, he went to retrieve the poor animal, making sure it hadn't hurt itself too bad. The letter was addressed to 'Arthur Kirkland' in a neatly written font.

After having read the letter, which for the most part was about that they already had a history of magic teacher, England rung France. The headmaster hadn't been completely dismissing about the offer and had agreed to meet with them.

After a quick conversation, England and France agreed to meet the professor on the following Tuesday in a room on top of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Angleterre, do you not think zat it would be smartest to let ze headmaster know about our nature?" France asked. They were having a meeting at his place, which mostly considered of England going through France's things to see what he needed to get.

"I have thought about it," England answered, while looking at some of France's more colourful ropes. "It depends on what man he is. From what I have read, he seems to be a decent chap, but you can never know. And what is all of this? Do you even own _one_ robe that isn't in some god-awful colour?"

"What are you talking about; my robes are magnifique ( _magnificent_ ). Yours, on the other hand, is much too boring! All black, no?"

"What was that again you twat! Your clothes are so colourful that you look like a bloody peacock assaulted you!"

To put it mildly, that meeting didn't go as planned, but you couldn't be lucky every time. That was usually what happened when England and France were in the same room. They could work together, as last meeting had proven, but it was more the exception to prove the rule.

England had at least (before he'd slammed the door in France's face), managed to figure out some of the things he had to get. France already had a wand, and a rather flamboyant one of the kind. It was made from oak with Veela hair as a core (what else), but it was the exterior of the wand that made you look twice. It looked less like an actual wand and more like some sort of hair accessory. It was quite short, only about 10 inches (25 cm), but the majority of that wasn't even made of wood. A good 2/5 of the wand was made of gold. From the wood it went out in three pieces, one going straight on the two others going out, forming a handle in-between. The wand screamed late 18th century France and that was probably also where he'd got it. It was so far from the type of wands used in England, that England considered getting him a new wand, but he wasn't it such a friendly mood at the moment.

The only thing he really needed was (apart from some less colourful robes) were books that were not in French and not from the last century. Their meeting with the headmaster was the day after tomorrow, so after that they may just go pick up what he needed (if England still had some sense left after being in the same room as the frog). Now it was just waiting until they had to meet up Tuesday.

…

They had agreed to meet up before seeing the professor, but England had put down a veto. "Not as _his_ house," he had said.

So France was standing on a street, in London, waiting for England to show up. It didn't take long before France spotted the unmistakable eyebrows of England. Anyone who knew him could see them miles away.

"So you're already here, that's good," England greeted, beginning to walked a little down the street.

"Oui, I assumed zat it would be better to be early zan late," England just answered with a "Mhmm", and stopped in front of an old looking place.

"This is the entrance to Diagon Alley from the Muggle-side," he said, pointing at the sign reading 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Without another word, he entered leaving France to follow.

France had his own magical community so it was as mind-bending as it would have been for people like America, but even so, the alley itself was such an amazement to see.

"Regardez celui-lá ( _look at that_ ), I did not know zat you had zis in you Angleterre. Zis is a surprise! I had my doubts in ze pub, but zis is more my style."

"Oh, do shut up," came his answer, "we have to go this way."

After some turns, they ended up on a smaller alley not far from the main. After they had knocked, they were welcomed with a "Come in", from the other side of the door.

Once inside, an old man in a purple robe greeted them. The robes wasn't France's taste, though the colour matched one of his own. This one was much too pattern in its fabric. That shade of purple didn't go well with the golden sparks.

"You must be Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Bonnefoy, I assume? My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am the headmaster of Hogwarts. It's a pleasure to meet you." He shook their hands, leading them into a living room. The tea was already on the table.

"Thank you, the pleasure is yours," England answered him. "We are delighted that you would meet with us today."

"Ah, yes, the position at the school." Mr. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "History of Magic was it."

" _Oui_." France felt like he had to say something, since it was he that was going to work at the school. "I am interested in ze job. As stated in ze letter, I recently moved 'ere and is looking for something to do. I heard from Arthur -" France almost slipped up, but quickly recovered, "zat ze teacher on ze school was a ghost and thought zat maybe he wanted a break from his work. I am not 'ere for a long time, so maybe some sort of temporary position?"

Dumbledore studied the two while they took a seat.

"I understand," he said, "and I see that you have a quite excellent resume. A student from Beauxbatons Academy I see, though no year stated?"

It was true that France had attended Beauxbatons both as a student and as a teacher, but that was a long time ago. It wouldn't look all that convincing if it said that he graduated the school in the class of 1672. No, that didn't do.

"Well, you see"," England started, feeling France's qualm, "I didn't find that relevant for the references. Isn't it more important to know what is studied than when it is studied?"

They both sat, hoping the other man found take their bait and continue on, away from the delicate subject of age. However, it looked as if he found it very interesting.

"I see," he then said, surprising France a little, because his eyes said something else. That he didn't buy their story one bit. "So Mr. Kirkland, you attended Hogwarts in your time?"

"Yes, I was in Slytherin," England elaborated.

"I see, I myself was a Gryffindor. And what year was that?"

"I hardly think that what year I attended Hogwarts is relevant for the case right now." England tried to twist around the question. "So, you what are your thoughts on Francis getting the position for just this year? I do not believe that you agreed to meet with us if you hadn't considered our offer."

"Yes, to be honest, I most of all wanted to meet you and see what kind of people you were. I must say I am surprised. I had imagined you to be older. How old were you again?"

 _That sneaky man._

"Bon ( _well_ ), I am 26 years old and Arthur 'ere is 23. We 'ave known each other since we were petit ( _small_ )". France thought it would be better to give the man some information so that he may forget about other, more delicate matters.

"That is an impressive age for someone with this reference I must say. Our current proffer, Professor Binns, is in need of a break. Not that he would admit it himself, but I do think that a break would do him good. He has been teaching about the same thing even before I started teaching at the school. Therefore, I am willing to accept your application. Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Bonnefoy."

* * *

AN:

So, that was chapter 2! I would have put in a picture of France's wand, but Fanfiction wouldn't let me... If you are really couious you can try to google "wands" and (on my computer) it is in the picture on the 6th row together with five other not quite normal looking wands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Hetalia. They belong to their respectful owners.**

It all went a lot quicker than England had expected. After all the digging the professor had done in the beginning, he had thought that it would be a longer affair. However, he hired France on the spot. Without much background information or general conversation.

England wondered what was going on inside the headmasters head. How he in his right mind could hire a man he hardly knew anything about to teach at a school?

On the other hand, that might explain the thing about some rumoured "crazy" professors or two in the last couple of years (the one who, maybe, died a room with a student and one who downright lied about his qualifications).

However, that wasn't the matter right now. France had gotten in which was the main focus of the day. The next thing was the bookstore. England mentally sighed. A whole day with France. This could just as well be the apocalypse.

In the store, they quickly found the history section. However, it was quite a lot bigger than England remembered it. That may be because of his narrow mind when he was there the first time. But as they stood there, looking at the different books, neither of them had a clue about what books to buy. What was the standard course-book for history at Hogwarts?

"You young men look at little lost," a voice said from behind. "Can I help you with anything?"

England turned around, looking at what presumably was the store attendant, a middle-aged man with a lack of hair on his head.

"Yes, could you inform us, what books are the students of Hogwarts taught from? For the subject History of Magic?"

" _All_ seven years? Well, first to fourth years are taught by this shelf, and the last three are taught by those down there. Of course, _all_ years are required to have 'A History of Magic'; that is the main book."

While the man pointed and kept talking about some of the books, England looked over them. There were a lot about goblin rebellions and different magical wars, which for most at the time, made no point whatsoever. It wasn't often England dismissed history, but there were things that were more important than others. And the goblin rebellion of 1612 was not that high on the list. He was there when it happened and he doesn't remember much about it.

The main book, simply titled 'A History of Magic', was a good one. England had read it a couple of times, but from what he could understand on the attendant, who was taught by Professor Binns, they hardly went over the timestamp of 1750 (1).

"Excusez-moi, but you do not happen to 'ave the teaching curriculum for ze subject 'ere, no?" France asked, possibly having some of the same thoughts as England: That a year only teaching only about the giant wars and goblin rebellions would be a long one.

"Why, I think I have one somewhere…" the store attendant rubbed his chin while he thought. "I'm just going to look in the back, I think it might be there somewhere."

While he went out to get the curriculum, France pick up a book titled 'European Wizards in the Medieval times' and began to look through it.

"Zis look absolutely horrible" he exclaimed. "If ze only thing on zat list is zis, I do not think I am going to make it a whole year!"

"I have to agree with you. The international warlock convention of 1289 was important when it happened. It wasn't like those old men actually agreed on something. I do not understand why they still teaches that."

While they discussed the different books the man had pointed out to them and how relevant they were, the attendant came back.

"Here you go." He gave France a heavy-looking book. "The 'History of Magic' curriculum for Hogwarts through the years. That is the only one I have with the new one in."

"Merci," France said, a little surprised, looking at the book. "'ave there been a change to ze curriculum from when you went to ze school?"

"I think there was one a couple years back, before the war against You-Know-Who. But why, if you don't mind me asking, are you so interested in the subject? You look a little old to start at Hogwarts."

"Well you see, my friend here is going to take on the position as teacher for a year at Hogwarts," England answered, seeing that France was in the middle of turning the pages in the book.

"Oh, I see. So old Binns is finally taking a break. I must say, even when I was at Hogwarts, the History of Magic lessons was some of the most boring..."

While England and the store attendant (that they still didn't know the name of) were talking, France was trying to find the curriculum in the enormous book. When he finally found it, he had to let out a sigh of relief. The curriculum for Hogwarts was different from the one at Beauxbatons. At Hogwarts, there were a list over things the teacher could choose to teach, while on Beauxbatons, there were a list of things the teacher had to teach. France didn't get how the system worked here, but right now it was in his favour. There were a list of things he both found interesting and relevant. Magic from other countries, the two world wars from the wizards perspective (because there were also nazi-wizards in Germany), and even so far up as to the war against Voldemort (even though this only were a subject from fifth year and up). There were a lot of things he could do with that. France memorizing the modern history was a bit better than his memory from 1289.

"Well then, Francis, is it to your liking?" England inquired, seeing that France's mood had changed.

"Oui, zis is much better zan I 'ad expected." He passed the book to England who skimmed the pages.

"Yes, I see. This is much better. What books do you think you need to buy?"

…

Most of the trip went well, until they were on the way out of the shop. England had (not so) unfortunately made a comment about the case of France's robes, which France replied with a comment about England's obvious lack of colour and somehow got his cooking included in that. As expected, England didn't take that quite as well, and the two of them ended in an argument that collected some stares from the people around them.

The audience made them stop (it wouldn't be good if they said something "confidential") and they parted ways.

France went to the robe shop, but not for the reasons England wanted. He looked at the fashion of British robes and cloaks and ended up buying a blue and white winter coat. Beauxbatons was in Southern France, so the temperatures didn't drop as much as it did in Scotland. That reminded him: He better call Monaco and tell her that she'll be representing France in the next 10 meetings (one meeting a month, and he was gone for around 10 months). France didn't think she would mind; there wasn't a lot to do in Monaco since it was so small, but it would be better to actually inform her about it.

…

They slowly came nearer and nearer the date for the start of the school year, and France thought that he was quite ready for it. He had read all the books and made sure that his clothes were warm enough for the weather in Scotland. What was the worst that could happen at a school? He had survived hundreds of years in the company of nations like England, Germany and Italy, lived through the two world wars and the beheading of his king. One year at a school shouldn't be the worst thing.

He had gotten a message from Professor Dumbledore (or rather, England had gotten a message from Professor Dumbledore), that if he had any books he liked the students to have, he should just send him a letter (by owl). France jumped at this opportunity. The book about magical history, though it covered many different areas, it didn't really go up in the newer times that much. And it was the newer times he would highlight in his lessons (he knew that the ghost professor would be back, so he might as well teach them something of that matter, since they most likely wouldn't hear about it again).

September first came quickly. England had agreed with himself that they should meet up at eight AM, much to France's dismay. He wasn't a morning person. That is why he (deliberately) came a good half an hour too late.

A rather angry Englishman greeted France.

"What the bloody hell did you miss by 'We meet at eight'?!"

"Excusez-moi, I must 'ave slept over, non!" France smiled. "I am terribly sorry, I do 'ope you can forgive moi ( _me_ ), mon cher Angleterre ( _My dear England_ )!"

"Get your bloody hands off me, you wanker!"

" _Non_! France is ze land of love! I am going away for ze whole year, ze least you can do is love me!"

"Not in a million years you bloody frog! And stop touching me!" With that, England placed a fist in France's face.

"Mon cher, I'm hurt!" France cried out in distress. "To think zat you would _deny_ my love!" He then again tried to go for England but the nation sidestepped him so he ran into the fence on England's porch.

"We really have to get going now," England said, not even sparing a glance in France direction. "The traffic in London is horrendous today. How much baggage did you bring?"

It turned out that France didn't have that much luggage, due to the undetectable extension charm he had cast on his only suitcase. England was impressed that France was even capable of such advanced spells. It shouldn't come as a surprise to England, but it did anyhow, especially when he looked at him in that moment.

"Why in the world do you have that in your hair?" England exclaimed, finally understanding what was holding France's hair in place. Because the twisted bun France had made was hold in place by his wand. England was both surprised but also triumphant. He knew that France's wand looked more like a hairpiece than an actual wand and here France had proven him right.

"Zis?" France asked, touching the wand, "I did not know where else to put it. It works surprisingly well as a hairpin."

"You do understand that it can be dangerous to have your wand like that?"

"Ne t'inquiète pas ( _don't worry_ ), no one will know zat it is my wand. And besides, it is hardly touching my head, it is not like I will accidentally cast a spell, _non_?"

"I suppose not." England wasn't in the mood to discussing proper wand handling with France right now. It was too early in the morning.

"So Angleterre, how do we get à Londres (to London)?"

"We are taking a cab and speaking of which, it should be here by now."

"Un taxi (a cab)? Why not drive ourselves?"

" _Why_ , because it would be bloody impossible to find a parking spot, you moron."

"No need to be rude, Mon Cher, I was merely asking."

As on command, the cab turned into the driveway. It didn't take them long to load France's only suitcase in the trunk, and they were on their way. As England had said, the traffic in London was awful. Cars, bikes and people everywhere (2). It took, what usually was twenty minutes on a sunny day, around forty-five minutes to get to King's Cross station.

Once there, it took them another fifteen minutes to locate the right platform, because of the sheer amount of people with luggage and other stuff (and England's apparent lack of knowledge to the place). A train must have arrived. While they were walking, England kept muttering something about quarters and 'long time', which France didn't quite get the meaning behind.

They entered Platform Nine, which was peculiarly empty, and France walked a bit around the platform. " _Angleterre_ , I do not understand why we are on a normal train station. How am I supposed to get to the school from here?"

"You are going to take the train, just like everyone else. Come, it's this way." England stopped in front of the wall between platform nine and ten and looked knowingly at France, who was now very confused. "All you have to do is run into the wall."

" _Excusez-moi_ ," France said, looking first at England, and then the wall. "Run into ze wall?"

"Yes, the platform the train is leaving from is on the other side." England looked dead serious, but France could spot a hint of laughter in his green eyes.

"Bon alors (okay then)," France said, mostly to himself, before he walked into the wall. He thought himself too handsome to run in a train station. An invisible entrance, he realised as the wall disappeared around him. On the other side was another platform, promptly naming itself 'Platform 9 ¾'. So that was what England meant with quarters. There weren't a lot of people on the platform yet, but a scarlet-red steam train was parked on the track.

"Angleterre, you did not tell me you had zis! Zis is magnifique (magnificent)! Oh, ze colour is superbe (beautiful) - and ze whole thing is practically shining!"

England, who had come through the wall, looked at what France was working himself up about.

"Is it just, Francis," he said, putting extra pressure on the last word, "one of the only non-magical things used by the magical community and one of the first trains in action. I believe the first time it was in use was in…"

France tuned out on England's walk down memory-lane and looked at the people on the platform. There were still about an hour until the train departed, so there wasn't a lot. Some families with children who looked like it was their first time and a couple single students sitting on their bag, waiting for the doors to open. The train chauffeur was walking down the side, inspecting different parts of the train to make sure that it was ready for action.

"… Once in 1954 (3) I do believe, the train had suffered a big amount of damage. It couldn't drive that year. It was chaotic; no one knew what to do. It ended with the students travelling by floo-powder to Hogsmeade village and walking to the…" At that point, England must have realised that Frances wasn't listening to his anecdote.

"That bloody twat, it is _exceedingly_ rude to walk away from someone talking to you!"

It ended, as usual, with a fight between France and England. Luckily for them, they managed not to shout. As more people entered the platform, the doors to the train opened and the students flooded onto the train. England too, having had enough of France who twice tried to put his hand up his shirt, pushed the other nation abroad the train.

"If anything out of the ordinary happens, send me an owl," he instructed. "I will pick up Monaco and take her to the first meeting and I do hope you have told her what to do!"

France reassured him, that he had indeed talked with Monaco and that she, to some extent, knew what to do.

"Do not worry all zat, Mon Cher Arthur. Is it only un (one) year. What is ze worst thing zat could happen?" Before England had the chance to answer him, France had sent him a kiss and disappeared into the train. England just sighed.

"Stop being so mélancolique (melancholy), Arthur. You will see me again for Christmas, so you need not wait for too long!" France said, leaning out of a window from a compartment he'd found.

"You frog, I'm more worried about the state of the school when _you_ arrive!"

* * *

AN

(1) - A made up date

(2) - I have never been to London, so I can't say if it is true.

(3) - Also a made up date.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Hetalia. They belong to their respectful owners.**

Harry arrived at the platform with the Ron, Hermione, and all the others. They had gotten quite the follow to the station this year; even Sirius was there in dog form. As usual, there were a lot of people: Families saying goodbye to their kids, friends meeting up again after a long summer, and the ever present noise of hundreds of owls, cats, and other animals.

"Now hurry up, dears, we need to get the luggage on the train!" Mrs. Weasley urged them along the way, followed by Mr. Weasley and Sirius.

On his way, Harry greeted some of his dormmates and, after some minor confusion with the whereabouts of Ron's Prefect sign, they boarded the train. On their way in, they walked by a fuming man, loudly speaking with another man in a compartment. Harry didn't hear what they said, but it looked like the man in the train had a blast annoying the other one.

"Isn't he a bit old to be on the train?" Ron asked, obviously also noticing the two men.

"You would think so," Harry answered him, not really know what else to say.

"So, I think that we this year we _really_ need to stay out of trouble," Hermione was saying, standing in front of them. "I mean, this is our OWL year. They are really important for our future!" She continued like that, until they sat down in a compartment together with Luna, Neville, and Ginny. It was a hot day, so Neville was trying to open the window.

"I think it's stuck," he finally said.

Ron got up to look at the window too, probably longing for some fresh air also. It was true that the compartment was a bit stale and with six people it, it was bound to get worse.

"Mate, you haven't opened the children's safety," Ron said, after having looked at the window.

"Like hell I'm going to miss someone like you, you twat!"

That was the first thing they heard after the window had come open. When Harry looked out of the window, he saw the same man as when he went onto the train. He was blond (with some impressively big eyebrows), and speaking in a posh accent. You couldn't see the man he was shouting at, but...

"Oh, Arthur, why deny it! Zis is going to be ze longest time since ze war we are not seeing each other!"

He was probably French. Ron face mirrored what Harry might think his looked like: A mixture of amusement and surprise.

"Well, that isn't every adult-like, is it?" Hermione snorted. "You would think that a new Professor would be a bit more grown up." Harry and Ron (together with the rest of the compartment) looked at Hermione.

"Where in the bloody hell do you know that from?" Ron asked her, his eyes wide. Then he looked at Harry. "Where in the bloody hell does she know that from?"

"Well, Ronald, it wasn't really that hard to figure out," she said, while laying the book she had been studying down on the seat next to her. "He is obviously too old to be a student and we have never seen him, or so we assume. The only other adults we have meet on this train, apart from the lady with the candy, and the train driver was Professor Lupin. It's most likely that he is the new professor in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

It all made sense in Harry head. After Moody (who wasn't really Moody) last year under the tri-wizard tournament, the school was in need of a new teacher. The bloke in the compartment next to them was most likely the one.

"He is French," Ginny noted, also looking out at the window. The man with the big eyebrows, presumably Arthur, looked like he most of all wanted to strangle the French one, but (from the sound of it) he merely laughed. Arthur then took a deep breath, possibly to calm a bit down, now that he realised that they had an audience.

"You know what; I think I'm going to leave now. Don't you dare destroy anything or do anything improper!" He lectured the French.

"I would never!" French said, but it didn't look like Arthur believed it.

"Goodbye Francis," Arthur said, disappearing into the sea of people.

…

It wasn't long after the little show that the train started moving. Ron and Hermione had left for their Prefect duties, so Harry was alone with Ginny, Neville, and Luna Lovegood, a girl from Ginny's year but in Ravenclaw.

After Neville's unfortunate presentation of this newly acquired plant and Cho Chang's very bad timing, they were once again sitting, small talking with Neville and Luna about their summers.

Neville's summer had really been that interesting, apart from the plant (if you were into plants to find that interesting), and Luna was a bit hard to understand. Harry got the impression that she had indeed enjoyed her summer, but also looked forward to school again. Much like Harry himself, of course. He was glad that to only live with the Dursley's for half the time, but it wasn't that interesting to stay in Sirius house, cleaning the entire day - even if it was with Ron and Hermione.

But the time Ron and Hermione came back from Prefect duties, the food trolley had already gone by.

"It was so boring," Ron complained, as he stepped into the compartment. "The only plus is that we are allowed to reduce house points! I can't wait to get Malfoy on something!"

"Ron, we can't just play around with our duties! And I thought that it was quite interesting."

Hermione told about the duties, while Ron was more focused on the fact that Malfoy was the new Prefect from Slytherin.

Speaking of Malfoy, later on the trip he and his two gorillas came to pay them a visit, much to Harry's dismay. He was indeed very pleased with the prospect that he was a Prefect and Harry was not.

"Get out, Malfoy." Hermione had gotten up and stood in front of them. Malfoy smirked at her and looked like he may leave when a voice came from behind them.

"Zis something the matter?" A distinct French accent asked. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, together with the rest of the compartment, turned around to look at the person behind them. He was of regular height and with a charismatic composure. His hair was blonde and would have reached at least his shoulders, if most of it wasn't tied up in a bun with a decorated hairpin. He had a handsome face, with blue eyes and a slim mouth, the features of an aristocrat. His clothes fitted that of a French aristocrat too. He was wearing a royal blue robe with a pair of white trousers (AN. His normal coat, but longer at the back and with white pants). The robe wasn't one Harry had seen before. It was longer in the back than in the front, and had more of a muggles coat feeling to it than other Wizarding robes Harry had gotten used to.

"Who are you?" Malfoy asked, looking a little startled to find an adult on the train.

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy," the newly proclaimed Francis answered, after a bit, like he had to think about it for a second. "Zis something wrong?"

"No, we were just leaving," Malfoy spat, obviously not satisfied with the answer. He then walked around Francis and disappeared out of sight, together with Crabbe and Goyle. Francis looked after them, then shrugged and began to walk away the other way, leaving the rest alone in the compartment once again.

"Who is he?" Ron inquired.

"That was most likely the new Professor." Ginny was the one to answer. "At least, he had the same accent as the one shouting out the window when the train started".

"He looks young," Harry added. They continued talking a bit about the new Professor, with Ginny proclaiming that she could think of some (a lot) of girls at Hogwarts that would find him handsome. Ron was then quick to say that he wasn't that handsome, it was because of the accent.

"It is quite an interesting book we needed this year," Luna Lovegood interrupted, "in History of Magic."

Harry thought about it. It was true that they this year were asked to buy a new book, about magical wars, for the lessons. They hadn't really used any other books than 'A History of Magic', but Harry hadn't thought much about it. He thought that is was because they were in their OWL-year.

"You mean you also needed the book?" Harry asked Luna.

"Not the same one as you," Ginny clarified, "we don't have about the magical wars, but one about different magic types from all around the world."

"Oh," Harry said.

"But I still think it's interesting," Hermione (who else) said. "I mean, this will have to mean that Professor Binns is trying something else. We didn't have anything about different types of magic last year."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, trying to swallow the last of his chocolate frog, "we heard about the Goblin Rebellion, a real bore if you ask me."

"Ron, the Goblin Rebellions are an important part of magical history!" Hermione told him.

"I can't really see it 'mione. I may not have paid much attention last year -"

"Nope," Harry coughed, earning a glare from Ron.

"- But I do remember that I thought about what this had to do with anything. Things were more or less the same before the rebellion and after the rebellion. And it was hundreds of years ago!"

Harry, impressed with Ron's ability to remember things he didn't like, tuned out of the rest of the conversation. He didn't hate the Goblin Rebellions as Ron, and he didn't care much for the subject of History of Magic as Hermione, so he took to looking out of the window. He wondered how long it would be to they reached the school.

…

France had been sitting in his compartment, not really doing anything. He had looked over the English landscape (not as beautiful as the French landscape mind you), and wondered if the sun was ever visible on the sky. Every time he had visited England, it had been raining. England himself claimed that it was because France came for a visit and that the English weather liked him as little as England did (France didn't believe him; no one was capable of hating someone like him. He was the land of love!).

After having just about enough with the landscape and looking over the books he had brought with him, he walked out of his compartment. He needed to find that lady with the food again. Last time she had come, he hadn't really wanted anything, but it wasn't long before his stomach began to complain. Besides, he needed to stretch his legs.

Just outside he saw (well, more _heard_ ), what sounded like an argument of some sort. A girl's voice was telling someone to leave. France quickly gathered, that the comment probably was meant for the three boys standing in the entrance to the compartment.

"Zis something the matter?" he asked. He didn't believe that it would turn violent (he had seen some violence in his time), so it was more meant to maybe startle the boys. And it worked.

"Who are you?" the blond once - reminding France a bit about a younger version of Germany - asked him.

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy." He couldn't just go around saying 'Well, I am the great Nation of France, the land of love' now could he? God, it was going to be a tiring year. "Zis something wrong?"

The blond boy looked questionably at him. "No, we were just leaving," he spat. France found that a rather rude thing to do. The kid wasn't even a tenth his age and yet he sounded superior. Luckily for him, France had lived thought the French aristocracy, on Versailles no less. Couldn't find people more snobbish than that (well, maybe the British nobility at same time). It took a lot more to, as America would put it, 'piss him off' than a kid.

As the blond boy left with his two friends, France took his departure as well. He figured that he would meet the other kids anyway, they didn't look like some of the older ones, and he was hungry.

He ventured further up the train, hoping to find the place where the conductor and food-lady were.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Someone bumped into France arm.

"Zat is quite alright," France replied.

It was a small, rather frightened looking boy. With France educated guess, he would say he was a first year, seeing the nervousness of the poor kid. He had been carrying a book and balancing some candy on top of it, which all was on the floor now.

"Let me help," France offered, bending down to grab the nearest piece of candy.

"No, no," the kid hurried, grabbing the piece before France, "It'll be fine, y-you don't have to!"

The garcon ( _boy_ ) looked like he wanted to bury himself in the nearest pit.

"Is zis your first year, Monsieur…"

"Abercrombie," the boy muttered, "Euan Abercrombie. Y-yes, it is my first year. Are you French?"

The boy looked shocked that he had asked a question, and to an adult, nethertheless.

"Oui, indeed I am!" France decided to add some glamour to the conversation and made a big arm movement. "And you see, Monsieur Abercrombie, zis is also my first year." France hoped the openness and movements would help the boy ease up a little and he wasn't wrong. The people who said France was bad with children were wrong. Actually, France saw himself to be rather good with children, having raised some himself. Mathieu turned out perfect.

"So, are you a Professor?" Euan asked, seeing that France didn't bite.

"Oui, my name is Francis Bonnefoy, and I am going to teach in Histoire de la Magie ( _history of magic_ )."

"What?"

"History of Magic".

"Oh".

The conversation stalled a bit.

"So, Monsieur Abercrombie, what do you look most forward to?"

"Well, my mum said that I should look forward to the charms classes." He began to pile up his candy again. "She really likes charms. My father is a Muggle, so he just said I should find some good friends. He doesn't know that much about magic."

"Do you like charms, too?" asked France.

"I dunno," Euan replied. "Haven't tried them before. But I like the ones my mum's do, you know, getting things to levitate and creating water."

France and Euan talked a bit about charms and the different kind of spells out there. It was clear to France that the boy, no matter own statements, was interested in the subject of charms. He told France that he and his mother had gone over his course book before he started, so that he just had to concentrate on the spell instead of the theory. He then asked France about what sort of charms he could do, were to France said that he had to wait until they arrived to the school.

"They 'ave different houses here, no? Do you know which one you are in?" That seemed to have struck something inside Euan, who dropped his books again.

"N-n-no, no one know which house they are in until after t-the sorting," he stammered.

France hadn't known that (there were a lot of things England found irrelevant to tell him), but as a teacher he couldn't say that.

"You 'ave no idea then? No wishes?"

"W-well, my mother was in Ravenclaw, so I suppose that I would like to go there. My cousin is in Slytherin, but I don't think I'm ambitious enough. Hufflepuff is a possibility that seems to be the way people go if they do not fit any of the others." He thought a bit, "I would like to go to Gryffindor, with are the brave, but I don't think I'm very brave."

France had read 'Hogwarts: A History', but was very deficient on the subject of sorting (to say, only mentioned that the students 'were sorted into either…'), so he knew the houses of Hogwarts.

Before France could say anything, a voice said that they would be at Hogwarts soon, and they (Euan) should change into school robes. Euan quickly said goodbye to France, dashing down the hall to find his compartment. France did the same thing, turning to go back the way he came. So much for the food.

* * *

AN

So, that's chapter four. As of now, I already have another 5.000 words, but they still need to be beta-read.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Hetalia. They belong to their respectful owners.**

The train arrived at the station a good 15 minutes later. France had just packed the last of his books before the outside of his compartment exploded.

Not in the literal sense, though. There were just a lot of students trying to squeeze their way out the door on the right of France's compartment! France sighed and sat back in his seat. He could just as well wait until the storm had cleared off a bit. It quite was dark outside. France wasn't completely sure where they were, but he knew it was in Scotland (he had felt the shift between England and Scotland).

The students flocked around trying to find each other and the way to the castle (he knew it was a castle, England had told him that, that bastard). A woman was shouting after the first-years, and France thought he saw Euan's prominent ears in the sea of people.

"Aren't you coming, Professor?" A voice spoke to him from the door.

It was one of the students from the compartment next door, a girl with bushy hair with a red and gold scarf around her neck. She was looking at him questionably.

" _Bien sûr_ (of course) I am on my way", France said, getting up from the seat and putting his robe on (he had taken it off because of the heat in the train).

"Oh. Okay!", the girl said, leaving together with her friends.

Now that he was out of the train, France was surprised by the cold air. Granted, he was in Scotland, but it still came as a shock. It wasn't nearly as cold in London.

Wrapping his scarf closer around him, he realised, that he actually had no idea how to get to the school. There was a woman's voice calling out for the first-years coming from his left side. France concluded that he should ask a fellow (possibly?) teacher the way, rather than any of the students.

" _Excusez-moi_ ", France asked the woman as he came nearer. "Would you be so kind as to tell me how to get to ze castle?". Yes, France could be polite and proper when he wanted to, despite the accusations of the other countries.

"Oh, you must be the new professor!" the woman said, "My name is Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. It's a pleasure to meet you".

"The pleasure is mine,", France replied while they shook hands. Finally, someone of age he could 'talk' with!.

"The castle is just that way." She pointed in the direction some of the students were headed. "You get on one of the carriages and they'll take you straight to the school".

Before France could reply, she shouted for the first years and began walking away. France took the clue and did the same thing, just in the opposite direction.

On the way to the school he saw a lot of things. The older students seemed to stick together in houses. The blue were with the blues, the green with the greens, and so on. There were hardly anyone who talked to someone not from their houses, and of those that did, it wasn't one of the greens. Another thing he saw were the tension between the red students and the green students. On the way he even had to stop a fight.

" _Arrêtez_ (stop)!" France said in a loud clear voice. The boys, five in all, froze in their tracks. "What is ityou think you are doing?"

"W-We-", one of the two green ones started.

"Nothing!" the other green said quickly, "Nothing at all!"

Yeah, France didn't buy that. The boys were clearly seconds away from fighting when France had interrupted it. They looked to be around 6th or 7th years, some of them older students.

So the quarrel between the two houses wasn't just a petty thing, France thought. He remembered the 'conversation' he had walked in on at the train. It had also been a compartment full of red students and the three boys were green ones. There had to be something between the two houses.

After he had gotten the names of the five boys, he sat in the carriage with the three red ones. It wasn't that he favoured them, the green ones had just left before in an almost full carriage. If France were to choose, he probably wouldn't have gone with neither, but no matter what you could say about France and punctuality, he didn't want to be late on his first day.

When the castle came into view, France couldn't help but clap his hands toghter:

"So _magnifique_ (magnificent)!"

"Isn't it?", one of the Gryffindors agreed, "So sad you don't get to see the faces of the new first years. That ought to be hilarious! Cormac, I remember your eyes were almost popping out of your head!"

One of the other boys, presumably Cormac, threw him a glare, "You weren't much better, Jacob! At least I knew what to expect.". He turned to France, as if first noticing he was there. "Who are you anyway?"

France looked forward to the official introduction, even just so that he would stop hearing that question.

"Why, I am ze new professor, Francis Bonnefoy!"

If England had been here, he would have asked if he was coming down with something (more accurately 'why such a long face frog, has the flu finally made you shut up?'). His behaviour was very unlike his normal self and he knew it. But he didn't know quite why. It may be because he had been with only children the entire day. He may be good with children, but children weren't good with him. His mental health needed an England, someone he could tease. Someone he could flirt with.

Well, maybe he was just tired. He had been up early, travelled in that ghastly train (the train was beautiful, but not that comfortable) for many hours, and now he had to sit through a dinner! It was sure to be so much more BORING than the usual meetings. There was always someone to hit on.

The boys were a bit surprised to find out that he was the new teacher, but oddly, didn't seem to care what he was going to teach. France found that a tad strange. It was as if everyone seemed to know, already!. England had told him that the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts was a position that often needed a new teacher (they only seemed to hold one year for some reason), so that might be why.

As they came neareed the school, they began to hear the noise of all the other students. France found that a bit comforting. He wasn't known as a quiet nation. Quite the contrary, in fact! He was known to be pretty loud and have no absolutely respect for others personal space (just ask Japan!).

France stepped out of the carriage with the three Gryffindors, (Cormac, Jacob and Henry he'd gathered along the ride, who were not the most pleasant people in the world), and followed the stream of people inside the castle. The inside of the school was just as impressive as the outside, but France still thought that Beauxbatons were more elegant in its French romantic style. Hogwarts were more medieval, but it had its charm too, with its stone walls and high, vaulted ceilings (when he said high ceiling, he meant high ceiling).

"Sorry!"muttered, someone who had bumped into France. France hadn't realised that he had stopped and quickly moved out of the way, further into the school. Over the sea of students cramming into what France assumed was the Main Hall, he was a green pointy hat. It distinguished itself by not wearing black like everyone else. A single green tree in an ocean of blackness.

In his personal opinion, the school uniform at Hogwarts was close to horrendous. It was all black, except the inner lining that were coloured in the house's colour. At Beauxbatons the uniforms changed by the year. The colour changed by what year you were in. The seventh-years wore a light blue uniform, the fourth-years were a pale orange, and the first-years had a deep blue (3). Here, it appeared, the style never changed. How boring!

But the dusk-green hat France had seen had been a pleasant surprise. It seemed that not everyone had to wear the colour black. Such a sad and depressing colour for the whole year. Black may be the fashion, but only in the last autumn and winter seasons.

As France approached the green hat, he saw it was a strict looking woman standing there with a sort of clip-board in her hand. Her robe matched her hat, a long dusk-green cape over a black dress. And France loved the colour, it fitted so well with the season and what all his fashion houses back home were working with.

So naturally the first thing he told her were.

"My my, I must say ze colour of your robe is _merveilleux_ (wonderful). Ze green fits very well with ze season". France wasn't the metropolitan of fashion for nothing. He knew what he was talking about.

The woman, however, didn't seem to know what he talked about. She looked at France with a stern, but also a bit confused expression. Then it seemed like a thought came to her.

"Ah yes, you must be the new professor, Francis Bonnefoy?" she asked him.

"Oui, indeed I am".

"My name is Minerva McGonagall, Ttransfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress here", she held her hand forward and France shook it. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Francis. Just inside those doors", she pointed over to the big wooden doors all the students were entering, "You will find the Great Hall. You have to sit at the table in the other end together with the rest of the staff. I'm sure someone would be so kind as to show you the seat".

She seemed to know that Francis never had been to Hogwarts before, which was a relief, because he hadn't had any idea what to do with himself.

The Great Hall did live up to its name France had to admit. It was undisputedly... great. The ceiling was higher than in the entrance hall (if that was possible) and it was hexed to look like the night sky. France had read about it in the book, but it hardly contained any pictures of the place (none at all really) so it was just as new to France as it was to the first-years.

When he walked in, his blue robe attracted quite a lot of attention, to his delight. (He was more than pleased to stand out from the sea of black). As he walked down the side of the Slytherin table, all the way to left, he could hear the whispers as he passed. Although he couldn't hear what was said (because of the other noise in the room), he could come with an educated guess. They were probably speaking about him and who he was.

"Professor Bonnefoy," the Headmaster greeted as he reached the high table, "It's good to see you again. I hope the trip was to your liking?"

"It was quite fine", France answered while looking at the other staff. There were a very pink woman (horrible fashion choice after France opinion, way too pink) on the left of Dumbledore. Her entire being screamed power, as a matter of fact. France took her to be the woman England had talked about, the one from the Ministry. The one France had to look out for, and to keep from doing too much damage to the school. Or at least, he had to write about said damage to England, so that he could complain to the Ministry. And then again, England would say to Ireland that he should complain to the ministry, because England still couldn't do anything.

Non of the other teachers looked like each others. There was a man with greasy black hair and a crooked nose, a small older looking man (possibly half something?), a woman with very big, thick glasses and a bunch of others.

Dumbledore appointed France to a seat beside the small man and a woman who looked as if she was in her late 30's.

"Hello mademoiselle", France greeted the lady while kissing her hand, " _Je m'appelle_ (my name is) Francis Bonnefoy and I will be teaching History here zis year".

"Why", she looked a bit flabbergasted, "Nice to meet you Mr. Bonnefoy! I'm Bathsheda Babbling, Ancient Runes professor".

France continued to flirt a bit with Bathsheda,also greeting the other man, Filius Flitwick, (the Carms professor, as he introduced himself) until the doors swung open.

McGonagall, the witch in the green robe, walked in followed by a crowd of equally terrified looking first year students. France spotted Euan Abercrombie, who looked like he was about to pass out. France tried to smile at him, but the boy was very focused at the old hat that was sitting on a chair.

What France hadn't expected, at all, was that the hat began to sing. It was quite a long song, and by the look on the students (and staff's) faces, the hat didn't usually warn.

The Sorting was about to start.

* * *

 **A.N.**

 **Chapter five is now up! Sorry for the wait btw.**

 **If any of you were confused about the update-that-wasn't-an-update, then it's because I'm new to all of this. I realized I forgot to but a disclaimer so the only way I (at that time) knew how to fix it was to take them down and repost them. So sorry about the confusion.**

 **(3) - This is a made up fact. I know that the uniforms at Beauxbatons are light blue, but I took the liberty to make the others different colours.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Hetalia. They belong to their respectful owners.**

Harry was sitting together with Ron, Hermione and Neville at the Gryffindor table when the new professor walked in. Ginny had gone off to sit with some of her fellow fourth-years, so that left them with Nearly Headless Nick. The odd thing was, that the Frenchman wasn't the only new face at the teacher's table. Beside Dumbledore, sat a peculiar pink woman. And Harry recognised her.

"That's that Umbridge woman," he said, when he finally pinpointed where he had seen her before. "She was at my hearing in the ministry."

"What do you reckon' she's doing here?" Ron asked, looking at the woman. "I mean, if she was at your hearing, she must work for the ministry."

"I don't know," Harry answered back. "Maybe she's here to say something?"

"I don't think so," said Hermione. "If that was the case, she wouldn't be sitting besides Dumbledore. She must be a teacher."

"A teacher?" Ron asked, "But I thought that the French bloke was going to teach us in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

'That French bloke', had reached the teacher's table and sat between Professor Flitwick and a woman Hermione informed who was Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher. As Harry watched, he took professor Babbling's hand and gave it a kiss, like in the old movies. The longer they talked, the more red Professor Babbling's face turned.

"Is he flirting with Professor Babbling?" Harry suddenly asked. Apparently, it had been a tad big louder than expected and George didn't miss it.

"He certainly is, the 'hot' new professor," George said to Harry a little further down the table.

"He certainly is what?" Fred asked.

"The New Professor all the girls looked at," replied George, while discreetly pointing at him. "He is certainly flirting with Professor Babbling. And she likes it!"

"You know what I see in the future, brother?" Fred commented. "A lot of broken hearts."

Harry had heard Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil's whispers as the Professor had walked through the hall. So Ginny wasn't wrong in the assumption that he would have a couple adorers.

"I believe so," Harry said to them.

Just then, the doors opened and McGonagall walked in with the new first-years. It was only the second time Harry had observed a sorting, if you count out his own. The first-years looked both amazed and terrified, looking all around, at the ceiling, the other students, the teachers (there was a boy looking back at the doors too) and at the Sorting Hat McGonagall had placed on the chair.

This year, the song was different than normal, and you could hear murmurs arise after it had finished. Harry though, had an idea about why it did that. It knew that Voldemort was back. It had warned them about it.

The sorting started with a boy, Abercrombie Euan, with some very prominent ears. On the way up, Harry saw as he looked at the New Professor (Harry remembered he was called Francis, but couldn't remember the surname) had smiled. They seemed to know each other, because the Professor gave him a slight wave. Euan was put in Gryffindor, and Harry clapped with the rest of the table, greeting Euan to the house.

The last girl, Zeller Rose, went to Hufflepuff, and the sorting was over for the year. Dumbledore welcomed them, and the feast began, much to Ron's delight.

As they ate, they talked with Nick about the warning the hat had delivered, the new professors and, most importantly to Harry, that Hagrid wasn't there. After the woman calling out for the first years, he had hoped that Hagrid might be at the Great Hall already. But at his place were the woman, and there were no sign of Hagrid anywhere.

After the dinner, Dumbledore got up to welcome them again and warning about the Forbidden Forest.

"This year we have the great number of three changes to the staff. We are pleased to welcome Professor Grubbly-Plank who will take over the Care of Magical Creatures lessons -" they all clapped at the new professor "- and we are delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, who will be taking the Defense Against the Dark Arts class." They clapped again while the Pink Professor smiled at them.

"Then I would like to inform that Professor Binns have taken a year off, so we are pleased to have Professor Bonnefoy here, all the way from Beauxdatons Academy, to teach History of Magic."

This got the biggest applause, mostly due to the fact that they shouldn't have Binns for a whole year and the New Professor looked anything but boring. When he was mentioned, he stood up and made an extravagant bow to the student body (Harry thought he saw him wink at some of the Ravenclaw girls), before he sat down again.

It took longer to get them to quiet down before Dumbledore once again began to talk. In the midst of his sentence about the Quidditch tryouts, he was interrupted by Professor Umbridge and a little 'hem-hem'.

Harry could already, wholeheartedly, say that he didn't like that woman, but after Hermione had translated what actually was said in the speech, he was even more certain. They wanted to change Hogwarts, just because they couldn't see that Voldemort was back.

On the way out of the Great Hall, Harry looked back at the teacher's table. Some of them had already left, but there were some talking quietly with each other. He could see McGonagall and Flitwick throwing glances at Umbridge while speaking. At least the other professors seemed to think the same as them. That Umbridge-woman wouldn't be good for the school.

…

Merde.

France found himself in a dilemma of all sorts. He had agreed to go to the school and make sure that the Ministry didn't do too much, and here the Ministry Lady was actually saying that they want to change Hogwarts. The speech she had given was, apart from being exceedingly long and boring, illuminative in a way. The way that made France sure, that they had to tell someone about their involvement.

So here France was, trying to decide if he should enlighten the Headmaster or write to England first.

The matter wasn't that pressing yet, so it could probably wait until he got word back from main control, but France wasn't known as the most patient type. And besides, England might not agree with him. It was better to ask for forgiveness than permission (or in this case, better to ask for forgiveness than to come to a 'mutual understanding').

"Monsieur Dumbledore," France started, as the students were on their way out the hall. "Do you think you 'ave time to speak for a moment?"

Dumbledore looked questionably at him, his eyes twinkling with mild curiosity.

"Of course, what is the matter?"

"Not 'ere," France said. "Somewhere where no one can listen."

Dumbledore nodded at him.

"Minerva, would you excuse me, Francis here was just asking how to get to his living-quarters, so I thought I might show him the way."

Minerva looked like she was about to say something, but decided against it and gave a nod. With that, Dumbledore and France began their way around the castle. It was an enormous place, with corridors abruptly ending, new ones appearing and staircases changing positions. France tried to keep track of the way, which was easier said than done.

…

They ended outside a door marked '4 F'. It was a simple wooden door leading into a simple wooden room. The room was obviously a classroom, with tables lined up to look at a blackboard and the smell of old paper (parchment was what they called it, wizards were so old school). From what France could gather, this was most likely going to be his classroom for the duration of the year. One side of the room were filled with books about Magical History and on the other side, the windows showed the view over the grounds of the school. Apart from the whole place being dark and boring, France could manage with it. It just needed some light and colour and then he would be good to go.

But it wasn't for the classroom that he stood there with the Headmaster. It was for something more confidential.

"So Francis," Dumbledore started, "I must say I am curious about what you want to talk with me about."

France didn't quite know how to break the bomb. Should he just flat out tell him, or should he sugar-coat it? There were always the (bigger) possibility that he might not believe him, and instead of listening throwing him to the mental department of, what was it, St. Mungo's.

"You see, Monsieur," France began, "I may not 'ave been entirely truthful about my background."

"Yes, I know that."

France would say it again: Sneaky old man.

"I had my assumption about the two of you when we met. There hasn't been an Arthur Kirkland at Hogwarts for the past 100 years."

Yes, the background was always the hardest thing to get set. It is true that both England and France had attended their schools, France had even taught at his, but that was many, many years ago. You couldn't fake your way into a school with books where every student ever attended.

"I am 'ere because my…" France paused for a fraction of a second, "friend was nervous. He knows zat Voldemort is back, but he cannot do anything himself. I volunteered to go in his place; I hope you can forgive me."

Dumbledore took his time to answer, thinking about what France had said.

"How does this 'friend' of yours know that Voldemort is back?"

France decided to drop the bomb. "Because he is Great Britain."

…

France had to say, that the old man took it better than many of his bosses combined. When he had to break the news to his new bosses, it usually took them a week and countless of proof to convince them that France indeed was true and didn't needed to be put in a mental institute.

Dumbledore however, was open to the idea for the get-go. His way of mind was, 'Even though I haven't seen it, it doesn't mean that it's not true', which France thought was a very smart way of life. Normally people in this time had to have prove of everything. Back in the days, people were a lot more opened minded, believing in the magical. Now even the magical often needed proof.

"And you are France then, I presume?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Oui," answered France, "What gave me away?" he winked at Dumbledore, who seemed unfazed. "I am 'ere on behalf of Angleterre. He is so nervous about the rise of Voldemort, so I could not turn him down! Not when he finally asked for help."

France then continued, turning more and more dramatic and emotional. "In ze past out relationship 'ave been... Complicated. We 'ave had a lot of wars. So when he came to ask moi; moi, if I would do him a favour! Oh, I was enchanté (delighted). Not to mention, zat Angleterre have not had zat much contact with his magical community since before the first war. I, on the other hand, is very involved with my community."

France continued talking a bit about him and his magical community and his involvement, and was careful to mention that he actually had taught at Beauxdatons (even though that had been around 150 years ago, but he didn't say that).

"I see," Dumbledore said, sitting down at one of the chairs in the room. It was like the times were you wrote the longest text in the history of texting, and the only answer you get 'okay'. France felt the same now. The expression on the Headmaster's face was unreadable, so France had no idea what the man was thinking.

"Do you, by any chance, have something to verify your story?"

It was a perfectly innocent question, and France had expected it at some point, but it surprised him anyhow. Did he have something to prove he was France? When he proved it to the new ministers, he had lots of pictures and books to tell his story (closely guarded secret of course). Here, it was just him and an old wizard…

Wait, old wizard.

"You do not happen to 'ave a pensive around 'ere, no?"

He had, but that had to be after the teachers meeting. France hadn't known that there was a teachers meeting on the first day, but he had been told surprisingly little about the whole ordeal, so it didn't take him by surprise.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Hetalia. They belong to their respectful owners.**

The meeting was held in the staff room. Luckily for France, he walked with Dumbledore, or he would probably never have found it. It was located on the ground floor, and the door was guarded by two stone gargoyles They gave France a questioning look as he passed. The inside of the long staff room was nice, with different brown chairs scattered about. In the middle was a table, where the other teachers at the school were waiting. As they saw Dumbledore and France, they fell quiet.

Dumbledore sat down at the head of the table, while France got to sit between the woman dressed in the hideous pink colour and a woman with eyes hidden behind thick glasses. Not the most exciting place to sit.

"So", Dumbledore started, "welcome back to another school year. As I said at dinner, this year we have Dolores Umbridge and Francis Bonnefoy here as new teachers, again, welcome to Hogwarts". France nodded to the rest of the staff, while Dolores gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"We also have Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank here as a substitute for Hagrid, who have taken some time off". The mentioned professor nodded, much like France, to the rest of the staff.

"How many NEWT-classes do we have this year?" Dumbledore started and thus the staff meeting began. It was a completely new feeling for France, being at a meeting where people actually paid attention and didn't shout at each other or sleep. Every teacher respected each other, listened and spoke out when they were called upon.

While the transfigurations teacher, Minerva McGonagall from the entrance hall, talked about her NEWT and OWL classes, France noticed a pile of papers in front of him. As he examined them, he discovered that they were lists of all the students taking History of Magic. As a mandatory subject for all students until their sixth year, he wasn't surprised by the numbers. What did surprise him though, was how many students in their sixth and seventh years were taking the subject. It turned out that he had a whole NEWT-class (he later learned that this was the final exam, the "Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test" (very fitting name)) consisting mostly of students from Ravenclaw. Not a surprise, really. He was amazed that there was students in the NEWT-class at all, considering the incredibly boring teaching which the former teacher was infamous for.

FRance looked at his timetable as the herbology teacher, a round woman with a kind face, talked about her plans for the school year. Monday morning he started out with a fifth year class, just for 1½ hour, which he opted to spend talking about what they had to go through during the course of the school year. But following, he had a double lesson with the NEWT-class, and there he could maybe spend half of the time on the curriculum, but he also needed to prepare some actual teaching..

"Francis", France looked up from his papers", what are your plans for the year?"

It was Dumbledore who asked. The rest of the teachers looked at him, while he gathered his thoughts.

"Bon ( _well_ ), after seeing ze curriculum from last year, I decided to take a different approach. With ze classes from première ( _first_ ) to quatrième ( _fourth_ ) I plan to go through ze origin of magic and ze different types of Magic in ze world. Zen with ze older ones, we will look at ze different wars in magic, ze second World War affect on wizards, ze war with Grindelwald and ze war with You-Know-Who".

It wasn't because France didn't want to say Voldemort's name, but after what that woman said at dinner, he had arrived at the conclusion that he probably shouldn't. He could see the displeasing look on her face at the mentioning of the war with Voldemort. If he just waited for a bit…

"Mr. Bonnefoy, are you sure that would be a good idea?"

France knew she would ask (or at least that someone would ask), so he and England had prepared a speech he could use to justify.

"Of course it is, Mademoiselle Umbridge. The war with You-Know-Who 'ave 'ad a big influence on ze wizarding world. Even though he is gone", here France gave Dumbledore a subtle wink, "ze British wizards still fear him. An event like zat, zat means so much now, is certainly important for ze history. So I see no reason why ze students, only ze older of course, should not learn about it".

He had remembered most of what England had told him to say. England had been very insisting that France taught the students about the war with Voldemort, especially because of his return. If there was one thing that France knew for certain, it was that you could (and should) learn from history. If something failed once, you shouldn't try to do it again. Of course, this wasn't always true, not even for he and England, who were practically history itself. Some things had been repeated many times.

But just because the nations couldn't help but repeat themselves, the wizards didn't have to follow! Take his current situation: France had never thought that he would be at a meeting, with other people, were they didn't end up screaming at each other (and where France didn't flirt with someone. However this aspect did not please him). But here they were, doing just that, something which nations had been unable to do for generations (much to Germany's dismay). That could sound a bit exaggerated, but as long as France had been around, he had never experienced a peaceful meeting like this. Not even when it was just the Allies meeting during the war. They had been just five nations (maybe six, something was telling him) and that hadn't even worked.

The speech had worked wonders for most of the teachers, but Dolores still didn't look convinced. As she observed the others, she looked like she reached the same conclusion as France had just arrived at: that she couldn't do much about it at the moment. And besides, Dumbledore had already approved France's curriculum for the year, so he was good to go.

…

The meeting drew to a close with the report from the potions teacher, a slick man with a crooked nose and (like the rest of the school) a preference for black clothes. However, most of the other teachers didn't follow the black trend. The headmaster, for example, was in a midnight-blue robe with small specks of yellow, like the wizarding robes non-magical people would buy. The woman with the big eyes (whom he had discovered taught divination) was dressed in a mixture of red, orange, yellow and purple. Not that it was pretty by any means, it was quite terrible honestly, but it had _colour_ , something France didn't know he could miss so much - and he hadn't even been at the school for a full day.

Dumbledore rose from his chair at the head of the table and clapped his hands together to get everyone's attention.

"That must be it for tonight, we have all grown tired. The lessons start tomorrow at eight. Head of Houses, remember to hand out the timetables at breakfast. Oh, and most importantly, have a good night's sleep! Mr. Bonnefoy, would you please follow me?"

Before Dumbledore had finished speaking, the other teachers were already on their way out the door. They were obviously tired from the day and wanted to be prepared for tomorrow's rush. France was lucky in that aspect, where a normal adult person ideally needed 7 to 9 hours of sleep, France just needed 5 to 7 hours as a nation. They had never figured out why this was, but in certain situations it was good not to have to sleep that much.

That small detail came in handy now, as he would probably spend a lot of time talking to the headmaster. They were the last to leave the room and headed down one of Hogwarts' many hallways. France eventually lost count of the times they had turned down a new hallway. Eventually, they even went through one of the paintings!. It was a 'still' of a landscape. When France thought of it as a 'still', he meant that it didn't have any people or animals in it. It was just a landscape of what may have been the Scottish highland with wind blowing in the moving paintings didn't surprise France at all as they were common for all wizards. Beauxbatons had lots of them, but mostly only in the great hall. At Hogwarts, they were everywhere. Almost all the walls were covered by paintings, which were looking, pointing and speaking to each other.

They ended up in front of a giant statue, one that even France thought was a bit prosperous. It was a gargoyle which looked much like the ones guarding the staff-room, except this one was a lot bigger and stood in its own little circular room in the wall.

"Ah, here we are," Dumbledore said as he walked towards the gargoyle,"Fizzing Whizbee".

Before France could comment on the wonderful choice of password (who would have guessed that the password to the headmaster's office was the name of a candy!), the gargoyle swung aside to reveal a passage.

The office was beautiful. France had always had a thing for oval rooms, especially the ones decorated in a specific style. He was, however, more into the extravagance of places like Versailles than this "wizarding lair" vibe Dumbledore had going on.

On the walls hung pictures of previous headmasters and mistresses. There were also portraits of others whom France didn't think to have been headmasters, but maybe they hung there as a sort of honourable mentions. Like the magical pictures in France, the images moved around. They were talking to each other and some even visited their neighbours. France couldn't recognise any of the people in the portraits, but that didn't come as a surprise. He hadn't been invested enough in his _own_ magical world to know all the headmasters of Beauxbatons, so of course he didn't know much about England's school.

That reminded him of how it had always amazed him that the British Isles had their own magical school. Beauxbatons took in students not only from France, but also from Spain, Portugal, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg. Durmstang managed the entire north, consisting of the Nordic and Baltic countries, with ties all the way down to Bulgaria. So how Hogwarts could manage with only students from England, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and Ireland had always intrigued him.

"Zat is a magnifique (magnificent) creature!" France exclaimed. He had seen the Phoenix sitting in the middle of the room and couldn't take his eyes of it.

Normally you didn't see Phoenixes as far north as Scotland. Last time France had seen one was probably over a hundred years ago during a visit to Egypt (Egypt… He had always found it a little too sandy).

"Yes, that is Faux, my Phoenix" Dumbledore said as he moved over to the table at the end of the room.

"You are welcome to help yourself to some", Dumbledore continued, gesticulating to a bowl of... black things on the table. "But be careful, they can be a little snappy". France wasn't one to say no to any food he hadn't tried before, so he took one of things he presumed to be some kind of candy. It bit his cheek, so he quickly bit down on it. One thing he would never understand was wizards' fascination with food that was moving and alive with magic. Why in the world would you want to eat something that bites back?

"Here it is" Dumbledore said as he opened a cabinet. Inside were mirrors, framing a little pond. This all had a very mystical aura that France loved. So far, he had seen too few mystical things, especially considering they were currently in a magical hot tub.

"Then let us get started", France said as he let his hair fall and extracted the first memory he thought of.

 _Ehm, I'm sorry for the long delay… I really don't have a good excuse to why it's so long since last time… One thing you have to understand about me is that I live in a constant writers-block, with moments of motivation. Mostly this motivation appears around Christmas, or when I read enough in the fandoms to get me hooked again._

 _So, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter! I promise, next time you see me, I will try to actually get a plot in the story (might not be in next chapter, but the one after that). I have no plan about abandoning this, but I will not be a regular uploader. Mostly because I care about what I post, if I don't like it, it will never see the light of day._

 _Thanks for the follows, favourites and revives!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or Hetalia. They belong to their respectful owners.**

What had he chosen? One of them was his time at Versailles with the Sun king, Louis the 14th, of course. It was grand, pompous and snobby - France loved it… Apart from the rest of his population starving and all that. It was a very conflicting time-period for him, but France figured that it would get his point across. For who else would have as lavish a taste as the noble class in France's "golden age". It was exquisite, if he should say so himself.

The memory he had chosen was a beautiful yet boring day, but he just needed to get his point across. And there was more to come after in some of the later ones. This was merely to start of gently and for France to show his wonderful country off in its prime… at least aesthetically.

As France and Dumbledore slowly fell down into the memory, the surroundings began taking shape until the entirety of Versaille was in front of them. However, this was still France's memory, so they quickly zoned in on him. As far as France could see, he was on his way inside the castle. He couldn't remember why, but he gave himself some slack. It were somewhere in the 1660s, and with all that had happened between then and now, it was understandable to forget "normal" and "boring" days. Though, he had been on his way to becoming one of the world's greatest powers. Oh, how he missed it!

Besides him Dumbledore hmm'ed.

"Versailles, of I'm not mistaken?"

"Oui, Château de Versailles in its prime. And 'zat is me", France said, as he pointed to a figure moving in and out between beautifully dressed noblemen and women.

"I see", was all Dumbledore answere. It was also easy to see, France thought. It was undeniably him, except his clothes wasn't robes, and his hair was done better than with a wand (although it really was surprisingly good at its secondary job).

When the two of them ascended to ground level, the memory-version of France was already on his way through the grand corridors of Versailles. France figured that he was on his way to the garden… which actually was more of a park than a garden, but you didn't say that to the King. He (memory-France) also seemed to move rather quickly through the corridors, which was odd, because God knows how much he dislikes (and disliked)being sweaty. With such a pace and temperature, France could only imagine how his past self must have felt. Additionally, there was now a curious lack of people around him. Normally, you would find a servant or nobleman somewhere in or outside the château, but the halls were suspiciously quiet. Present-day France had no clue as to why.

Or, that was until he entered the grand gardens.

"Ah yes, now I remember"

How could he forget? This was non other than the day the Portuguese had given Louis the 14th an elephant. It was the first time a lot of the people, including the King, saw an elephant. France had, of course, visited other countries, even at that time, so an elephant wasn't as exotic for him. It was for the rest though and thus a big deal in pre-revolution France.

"Is that an elephant?" Dumbledore asked, much to France's joy. Compared to some of the more secretive and mysterious nations, like his very own Angleterre, France loved to talk about himself and his history.

"Oui, it is", they were now so close that they could hear the voices of the crowd around the elephant. "It was a gift from ze King of Portugal to Louis in 1668, if I remember correctly".

"And that is the King of France?" Dumbledore asked, nodding towards the man in question.

"Of course it is! Non other than the King Louis the 14th, Le Roi Soleil! He was an amazing man, very elegant, with a good taste in interior design. Bien que ( _although_ ) I must say, he did 'ave a habit of poking his nose where it did not belong. Opening letters and all that. But what country did not 'ave a fair share of censorship back in the days. Certainly not Angleterre".

Below them the scene played out. Since France had already experienced it once, he didn't pay that much attention. However, he could see that his companion surveyed the actions below them with keen interest.

Dumbledore looked a little bemused. "I didn't know that King Louis had an elephant".

"It is not a widely known fact, unfortunately. Nor ze plan at that time. You could say it came as quite ze chock for everyone, myself included. 'Adn't talked to Portugal for a while, even though I helped out in ze Restoration war against Spain. No one really liked Antonio at zat time. He did 'ave a bit of an inflated ego and lust for gold. The elephant was a gift from Portugal as a thank you for ze help in the war. Congo told me it was one of his when I met 'im later. But why do we not take a look at something else? This court is not zat interesting when you cannot talk to anyone".

….

If you didn't know what you were looking at, it didn't look like the memory changed at all - except for the lack of elephant. They once again looked at a château, but this time, it was surrounded by mountains. And it was hotter, except they couldn't feel it. But France knew, because this was his school: Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons.

Compared to the old-school castle of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons was a beautiful château which shone in the sunlight. The student body of Beauxbatons was bigger than that of Hogwarts, so the original building hadn't been big enough to house them all anymore. Somewhere in the mid-1800s, a bigger renovation took place - but only lasted for about three days, thanks to magic. Two new dorm-buildings had been built, in the same style as the old château, a girl's and a boy's dorm. The old dorms in the château had been remodelled to a larger library, new classrooms and some common areas, where the students could hang out and relax across genders. Apart from the two dorms and the main building, there was also the house where the magical creatures' class was held, in the back of the school, and the preschool building. Compared to many of the other magic schools in the world, Beauxbatons had taken after the Japanese Mahoutokoro. They had a day-student program, where children under the starting age could come and learn the basics, as reading and writing. They were also taught theoretical magic, since they had to wait until they became full student to actually practice magic.

However, the gem of Beauxbatons would always be the beautiful gardens that surrounded the château. There were a lot of small nooks where classes could be held and fountains where you could sit and relax. It was said that the fountain in the middle of the grounds possessed healing and beautifying properties. France had the feeling that it stemmed from him bathing in it once. He was eternally young and beautiful, so maybe the wizards came to the conclusion that it had to be due to the fountain.

This time, the memory also began with France walking through the grounds, though not as fast as in the other memory - this was more of a strolling.

There weren't any students around, so lessons must have had started.

"Professor Bonnefey!" a voice rang out from behind them - in French. France wondered shortly if Dumbledore spoke French, but quickly came to the conclusion that since he spoke Mermish, he also spoke French.

"Ah, Monsieur Delacour, what are you doing here, out of class?" Past-France answered the out-of-breath-student.

"I, huf, was, huf, looking for you! No," he said, taking in a big chunk of air, "I have a free period. But there has been an accident! Marionette Dupont tried to do the _Aguamenti_ spell you taught last lesson. But now she can't turn it off. There's water all over the place".

"Where is Mademoiselle Dupont now?" France asked the frantic fifth year student.

"In the green room," he said, as they began to walk into the main school. All the common areas had names. The green room was popular with the older kids because of the difficulty of locating it. It was easily the most beautiful room, with big windows looking out over the garden. Luckily, France was there when the school was built, so he knew all the short-cuts. Where Hogwarts' corridors had a thing with changing the hallways and staircases, Beauxbaton's rooms had a tendency to move around. It was a test from the original builder. If you couldn't find your room, preferably with magic, you had no right to go to classes.

That was why the first charm they taught was the _point me_ charm, so the first-years had a chance of finding their classroom. The most common classrooms were easy enough to find, they only changed between two locations. However, if you wanted to find the tower, another common-room, the old alchemy classroom or the Beauxbatons version of the Room of Requirement, you really had to know what you were doing. Those rooms had a tendency to disappear completely. No harm came to the people inside the rooms, they would merely turn up in a bush or sometimes a fountain as they exited the room. France had once been dropped off in front of a painting two floors above the ground - and it hadn't even been a nice painting! You could say it was luck that it was France which the room had decided to play a trick on, but France had always had a suspicion that the room didn't like him. They went far back, the Tower and him. Because, if course it was the Tower. That room had a mind of its own.

However, the green room was a bit easier, since it didn't just randomly disappear completely sometimes. If you looked at the weather, time of day and air humidity you could find the green room without much trouble. And France knew that it was on the second floor, just to the right of the library at that moment.

When they reached it, surely enough, there in the middle of the room stood Marionette Dupont, waving her wand wildly around. There was already a considerable amount of water in the room and the other students had wisely moved away.

"Professor" Marionette Dupont cried, tears forming in her eyes. "I can't turn it off again. Water just keeps coming out".

"I can tell by the condition of the carpet", past-France said. He had taught them the _Aguamenti_ spell in their previous lesson, but he had also said that they should wait with performing it outside of class for some time. Exactly for this reason. The spell in itself was easy enough to perform, but difficult to turn off again.

France had always wished that the creators of magic had made a way for a third person to turn off a spell performed by an underage witch or wizard. That would have prevented many disasters and made the job of teachers so much easier. But there had been no way for him to step in and stop it for her, so he, unfortunately, had had to teach her outside of class.

"Mademoiselle Dupont, you need to focus on the flow of the water instead of the amount of water. Forget how much water there is. You just need to think about turning a lever the other way. Cut off the flow. Then, when that is done, say _Finite_. But not before you have a clear picture in your head. Try now".

If she didn't have the clear picture in her head, she could very well set off an explosion instead. Magic had a tendency to explode at the least pleasant moments.

The poor girl closed her eyes and thought for a few second, until she said " _Finite_!" and stopped the water. France waved his wand, and then everything was back to normal. He then proceeded to give the girl a detention and explaining why he had said to wait with performing that spell. See, he could be a teacher if he wanted to.

"I take it you weren't the history professor?"

France had been so focused on the scene that he'd almost forgot that he had company.

"You guess right. I worked at Beauxbatons some years ago where I taught charms. I knew ze headmaster at zat time, and he called in a favour. But I 'ave enough charm to teach in the ze subject so I saw no problem. Although I had to read up a bit when I learned zat it was the spells. Fortunately I also 'ave enough practice with charms to teach in zat".

Dumbledore looked amused at the answer. It was, sadly, true. It wasn't one of his proudest moments. He could, however, say that his students both learned to charm and preform charms. He liked to think it was the point all along.

There were a silence, as they followed Past-France out of the common room and back to his own room, while the two of them returned to Dumbledore's office.

"'Ave I convinced you?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I have never doubted your word. Once I meet a peculiar man on a journey. He seemed to have no problem with telling me he also went by the name Scotland after he learned that I was a wizard. Then he began to complain about some law that forbade him to interfere with the magical community. He told me it was his little brother Arthur's fault, and if I ever ran into a "lad" named Arthur Kirkland, I should "run as if the devil was chasing me".

If France had to be completely honest, it didn't surprise him. A man both as old and as influential as Dumbledore had probably seen his share, so if anyone should know about them it would be him. Heck, France himself didn't keep the secret that well. There were countries out there who took the whole "keeping-it-a-secret" thing very seriously, like England and the people around America, but France really didn't have that relationship with his status. If some of his people wanted to know who he really was, he told them. And he suspected that Scotland had the same attitude. Or that he simply needed someone to vent to. He could also have had too much whiskey. France knew he liked his whiskey, and had joined him at several occasions. Overall, something England wouldn't be happy about.

"Zat sounds like Scotland, non? Always going a little overboard when he gets too much to drink", France mused. "Angleterre did not know, but he hardly speaks zat much with his northern brother, so it should not come as a surprise. Actually, there is a chance zat Scotland remembers nothing. I 'ave been drinking with 'im some times, and he often he does not remember what happened the night before. Sometimes it contains great opportunities, but mostly it is just inconvenient. Some good stories were lost on petite Écosse". France paused for a moment, trying to figure out where he was going with this. Nowhere it seemed, so he tried to turn the conversation around again.

"But zat is not what I wanted to speak with you about. Angleterre sent moi 'ere mostly to keep an eye on ze ministry's involvement with ze school. And the problem with ze dark wizard rising, even though he did not send me 'ere for zat, so do not tell him. But now mademoiselle Umbridge is 'ere, and she 'as a distinct ministry feeling to 'er".

Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking his age. While France had been speaking, he had moved to his desk, where he sat down. The wizard folded his hands and looked at the country standing in front of him.

"Dolores Umbridge", he said, "is the proof of the minister's doubt. She is by no means a likeable lady, but she was the lesser of two evils."

So... Yeah... Hello again! This time we see the past-France, and to be honest, not much is happening in this chapter... However! I promise that some wheels are turning next time! It is almost done at this point, but I have some trouble with getting the dialog as I want it. But it should be here before another half a year, I will actually promise that.


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